they all need something to hold on to, they all mean well
pay your respects to society giving me hell A dark cloud passes over her expression as Nao regards the old buckskin, steel and flint sharpening her gaze until her stare nearly pierces right through him. “How darling,” she remarks all too sweetly, a smile on her lips that never reaches the almond of her eyes, “to have such a doting son.” Ikaro comes up beside her, the warm dapples of his bay coat deepening as they catch the wayward light. She glances to him with a barbed look – the brother who might have been a doting son, too – if only he’d had a mother to dote upon.
The old stallion asks his own question then, and Nao laughs – a harsh sound. “Trust me, she’s not my type,” the chestnut responds with a flick of her tail. Abruptly, she veers aside and moves off without a backward glance. Ikaro watches her lower her delicate head to begin grazing some yards away – as though she had not just happened upon a brother they’d never known. “Please, excuse my sister,” Ikaro says after a moment, a husk to his low voice as he turns to address the aged illusionist.
Perhaps the buckskin would find the silence that follows uncomfortably long as Ikaro looks at him (at the leopard-marked mare dancing upon his skin). There is a strange intensity in the dark of his gaze, a twinge deep in his belly. His sister may want nothing to do with this – (with a mother who had abandoned them) – but it was different for him. “My name is Ikaro,” he starts at last. “That was Nao. As for your mother, if I'm not mistaken...” And he knows that she is gone – not only by the years that have aged her son, but by the images he portrays of her. It is obvious to him that they are a remembrance. A tribute. He clears his throat, light and shadow in his dark eyes. “Her name was Kagerou?”
nao § ikaro
you could never feel my story, it's all you know
i will not fold, she's in control of everyone and everything |
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